A CONVERSATION

“Specialist catering right there, a steal at £30”

The fifth in a series of conversations between Tim and Steve. Catch up on the first four via Steve’s author page.

 “Penny for them, Tim.”
 “What?”
 “Your thoughts, mate. Penny for them.”
 “Oh. Right.”
 “Only you look like you’ve a lot on your mind.”
 “Yeah.”
 “So...?”
 “I’ve been thinking.”
 “Never a bad thing, Tim.”
 “I’ve been thinking about food, Steve."
 “Not dieting again, are you?”
 “No…”
 “Only it never works.”
 “I know.”
 “You just end up obsessing about calories…”
 “I know.”
 “Feeling hungry all the time…”
 “I know.”
 “Then, sure as night follows day…”
 “The inevitable binge.”
 “Yes, Tim. The inevitable binge.”
 “I’m not on a diet, Steve.”
 “So why the long face?”
 “Fish.”
 “Fish?”
 “Yes. Fish.”
 “Not my area of expertise, Tim.”
 “Really?”
 “They prefer aquatic environments…”
 “They do.”
 “But after that, I’m at a bit of a loss, frankly.”
 “I love fish, Steve.”
 “OK…”
 “And Cassandra loves fish.”
 “Right…”
 “So, in the interests of building bridges…”
 “Uh-huh.”
 “I went out and caught her a trout.”
 “I see.”
 “Very partial to a bit of trout, Cassandra.”
 “And…?”
 “Knocked on the door…”
 “To give her the trout?”
 “Yeah.”
 “What happened?”
 “Not interested.”
 “Really?”
 “Wouldn’t take it, Steve.”
 “Ah. Things not going well there?”
 “Not exactly, no.”
 “Her enormous hinterland come into play, did it?”
 “There was no playing, Steve.”
 “I didn’t mean…”
 “It wasn’t that kind of conversation.”
 “Right.”
 “And don’t ever let her hear you talking about her hinterland.”
 “I don’t think you quite…”
 “Nearly broke my jaw when I brought it up.”
 “I think we’re at cross purposes here, Tim.”
 “She was way beyond cross, mate.”
 “Livid?”
 “Possibly.” 
 “Terrifying?”
 “Yeah.”
 “And the trout?”
 “Wasn’t scared in the slightest, Steve.”
 “I mean…”
 “On account of it being dead.”
 “Thanks for clearing that up, Tim….”
 “Basic fish knowledge, that.”
 “Gotcha.”
 “Even you should be able to grasp it.”
 “So where IS the trout, Tim?”
 “In this bucket.”
 “And how long’s it been there?”
 “Since Sunday.”
 “Ah.”
 “Bit past its best now, granted.”
 “You’re not kidding…”
 “Like I said to Cassandra…”
 “Uh-huh.”
 “It’ll just go to waste if you don’t want it…”
 “But?”
 “Made no difference.”
 “I see.”
 “Slammed the door in my face.”
 “Tim?”
 “Yeah?”
 “Why haven’t you cooked it?”
 “I’m living in a car, Steve.”
 “Right.”
 “Not noted for their well-stocked kitchens, cars.”
 “Fair point.”
 “Bit lacking in the convection hob department, if you hadn’t noticed.”
 “Sorry, Tim.”
 “Sometimes, mate…”
 “Really sorry.”
 “You’re a bit insensitive, you know?”
 “I’ll try and do better.”
 “Do.”
 “So…er… what are you living on?”
 “Crisp butties.”
 “Come again?”
 “Crisp butties.”
 “I see.”
 “Spaffa sorts them out for me.”
 “Really?”
 “He’s got a mate, you see…”
 “Right…”
 “Who specialises in catering…”
 “Oh boy.”
 “Seven packs of crisps and a loaf of bread…”
 “Specialist catering, right there, Tim.”
 “A steal at £30.”
 “£30??!!”
 "Like Spaffa said, he’s doing me a favour…”
 “You could buy them down the corner shop, Tim…”
 “Proper mate, he is…”
 “And save yourself a fortune.”
 “Probably not much in it, Steve.”
 “Oh, there probably is.”
 “We’ll agree to disagree on that, Steve, if you don’t mind.”
 “OK.”
 “Don’t need you lecturing me again.”
 “No problem, Tim.”
 “Had enough of that from Cassandra.”
 “Righto.”
 “It’s my life.”
 “Whatever you say, Tim.”
 “So long as we’re clear.”
 “Clear as day.”
 “Good.”
 “So… crisp butties.”
 “Yes. Crisp butties.”
 “Don’t they get a little… dull?”
 “There’s a lot of flavours of crisp, Steve.”
 “I see.”
 “Thirty-one, at the last count.”
 “Gosh.”
 “And if I feel like a change…”
 “Seems unlikely…”
 “I treat myself to a chip butty.”
 “Battered chips?”
 “Of course.”
 “Good man.”
 “So the way I see it…”
 “Yeah?”
 “I’ve got all the major food groups covered.”
 “Largely potatoes, to be fair, Tim.”
 “You’re forgetting the flavours.”
 “I am?”
 “Cheese, chorizo, prawn, beef, chicken…”
 “Hmmmm.”
 “Chili and lemon, pickled onion, sour cream…”
 “Wowza.”
 “You can’t eat healthier food, Steve.”
 “If you say so.”
 “I do, mate. I do.”
 “So…your pal Spaffa?"
 “What about him?”
 “Sorting your car out any time soon, is he?”
 “He’s got a mate…”
 “You don’t say?”
 “Who can sort out the paintwork…”
 “Really?”
 “He’ll do me a special deal on the paint…”
 “I don’t doubt it.”
 “And the brushes…”
 “Brushes?”
 “Yep, brushes.”
 “You sure that’s the way to go, Tim?”
 “Spaffa says a lot of people are after brushes nowadays…”
 “I’m sure he does.”
 “And these are top-quality…”
 “Oh, Tim.”
 “Made here…”
 “Tim…”
 “None of your foreign muck…”
 “How much is this costing you?”
 “Spaffa’s doing me a discount, Steve.”
 “Uh-huh.”
 “I mean, it doesn’t come cheap…”
 “You surprise me.”
 “But you can’t beat quality…”
 “This won’t, Tim. Trust me.”
 “And Spaffa insists it’s an investment.”
 “I’ll bet he does, Tim. I’ll bet he bloody does.”

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